Mirror Maze
by Chiwibel
Summary: A rescue attempt turns out to be a trap where Anders is stripped down of something more important than his clothes: Himself. As he tries to find who he is now, he connects and reconnects with the world of, and beyond, mortal men.
1. UNO:ONU

_Or... How Anders and Others Deal With His Condition._

 _Or... That Obligatory Tranquil Fic We All Must Write._

 _(The theme for this fic was a request)._

So this is how we begin. I'll try not to dwell on the obvious things because that's boring and because Ander's Tranquility is not the big twist on this one, so the focus will mostly be on how the world develops around a man that's not the apostate swimming across lakes nor the Warden nor the "abomination". Let me know if you see any mistakes here, please. As always, apologies for my English.

Serah-pounce-a-bell . tumblr . com

 **Mirror Maze**

…

 **U N O : O N U**

 **...**

It was a silent night at the Clinic, with no darktowners staying overnight and only the scratch Anders made while writing his Manifesto could be heard. Delaying having to buy candles soon, the only light source he had was a little ball of magelight, shedding its blue glow over his papers. He had to finish at least three more pages before considering the idea of sleep.

The mage was tired.

He'd been tired for years.

Tired of being feared for existing (he could give them quite a few reasons to fear him, truly), tired of walls, of being shunned, of being a sin, of his loneliness, of crying for Karl, of hiding. Tired of Templars.

Merely thinking of them fueled him, _them_ , to write faster, to work harder.

An entire chapter got done before the sun rose. He would need to get more ink soon too. Or he could write with the blood of fallen mages, rotting in the dark corners of the Circles where no one would dare to see, their screams ignored.

"Justice, please. Not now", while they couldn't speak to each other directly, how he needed to be able to do so, the spirit could place images on Anders' mind, most of them reminders of their cause. That night he lacked the strength to stomach some of his memories, though. Weak shoulders and eyelids fighting to close were signals enough for Justice, thankfully, and silence filled Anders' mind for once.

And then, knocks.

A series of loud and alarmed knocks against the door made him stand from his chair quickly, knees almost giving up in the process. Hawke, maybe? The rogue tended to appear to the strangest times but he also tended to avoid Anders since his mother's death and Merrill's convenient vanishing. Things had been complicated, at least, since the Templars had gotten to Bethany.

That day had been a dark one. They were all exhausted after their first and sadly not last taste of the Deep Roads (Anders has warned them enough) and the news reached a Garret too hurt and too tired to be ready for them. _If only she wasn't a mage_ , if only he'd said over and over again over Avenline's shoulder. _If only father hadn't been one… I'd still have a family…_

Anders would be the last to blame him for his resentment.

"No herbalist after the light's gone!" he said, his emphasis on the world herbalist almost comical.

A sad "please" was all Anders could hear. Sleep numbed his better judgment.

The magelight vanished with a flick of his hand. Varric? Isabela? Not impossible but unlikely. Templars? Staff in hand, he opened the door slightly and whoever was at the other side pushed. Anders casted a fireball and kept it in hand, menacing and allowing him to see under the person's hood. He'd been right to guess Templars.

"Give me a reason not to burn your eyebrows while on your face _again_ , Cullen" the mage spat, rage clear in his eyes.

Cullen, unsurprisingly, wasn't affected by Anders' threat and moved closer mumbling nonsense, his entire body shaking.

"Don't you dare give one more step, I mean it. And by the Maker make some sense, man!". The fireball in his hand increased in size and the reflection of its flames danced in Cullen's eyes, open enough to give them room to do so. The Templar carried the expression of those about to lose the entire world and that scared Anders more than anything at that moment.

Cullen stopped entirely and the mage realized how little and insignificant he seemed without his uniform, his figure covered by a dirty and thin cloak that did just as much to cover his identity as it did to protect him from the cold. Anders had to concentrate to hear his whispering voice. In the end, he was still the same fearful boy from the Circle. It was a fact, that some people just didn't change and other people changed too much.

"Bethany… Bethany Hawke… I need your help, you know how to get her out".

"What did you do to her?!"

"Nothing I swear!" Cullen screamed, "at least not yet. She'll be made Tranquil".

He froze, trying to control both his boiling anger and Justice from being seen by Cullen, _keep it down, let him finish_. Cullen continued in the mage's silence.

"Meredith thinks the Champion has too much power and needs a reminder. We must get his sister out before she gets to her".

"A reminder of what, exactly?"

"Of control, of power and of who really carries it".

"Then why not go to him directly?" An excuse, a reason, too convenient to go for the apostate in Darktown.

"The moment he puts but one foot in the Gallows, Bethany is a dead woman". He fell to his knees. "Please".

Anders laughed. And laughed. Slowly, a mere a rumble from his throat expresed with the utmost disdain. The Templar at the apostate feet begging for his help made quite the picture. He felt tempted to kick Cullen under his chin, just like he had seem too many times back at Kinloch Hold.

"How many", he spat, "how many mages have you had in your place? Asking for their own mercy? Maybe for someone else's?"

Cullen looked down, "too many".

"And how many times did you listen to them?"

"Not… Not even once", his voice broke and tears dripped from his eyes. Anders retreated, he was better than this, than them all.

Giving his back to the Templar, something he'd never done willingly, he grabbed his black coat and his staff along an old cloth that would do as a cloak with a little work. Thoughts racing, thinking of the best route Bethany could be sent to. Ferelden was the best option, if not the only one, there were trustworthy people on Amaranthine and Anders could take advantage of her relationship to the Amell family and the Commander, even if it meant sending his head head back on a silver plate to the Wardens of the Grey.

But first…

Cullen did not move, still crying on the floor. His doglike whimpers reminded Anders of why he was a cat person. Anders' steps over wood resonated around the almost empty clinic while he got closer to the other man. Using the end of his staff, he forced Cullen to raise his head and look back at him.

"I said: stand up".

Once again, the man refused to move, letting his tears fall over his staff. Face red and bloodshot eyes, _disgusting_.

"Is this what you felt when you had Surana finally at your feet before killing her?"

That seemed to do the trick. In less than a second, Anders had a furious Cullen towering over him, a considerable feat as Anders had always been taller.

"Don't you dare… Don't you dare bringing her into this!"

"Then, for the first time in you sad life, get a move on!", he screamed back, " _we_ have a _mage_ to help".

 **…**

* * *

 **...**

The way to the Gallows was not a quiet as Cullen wanted nor as Anders expected it to be, surprising himself by how talkative he was feeling that night. When Anders thought it was safe to do so, he spoke of old tales from the Hold, from that one time he tried to scape by swimming across Lake Calenhad, that other time Karl created a spell made for the sole reason of hiding the hickeys they left one another. And that one time he turned Cullen's eyebrows pink. No amount of nervousness could stop Cullen's indignation.

"That was you?"

"It was always me, Cullen".

While they decidedly avoided making eye contact, the mage and the Templar walked side to side. Sweat running cold over his back. It felt familiar to Anders, maybe a little bit too much. He supposed it made sense, with Cullen being the only connection to a man he was no more. Justice grumbled, sending waves of frustration and, unexpectedly, sadness.

"Why now?" Anders asked. "Why not get to Bethany before? What are you Templars waiting for?"

"Damned if I know. Meredith's acting… just plain _weird_ lately. Won't consult anyone before acting, won't trust in anyone but herself and-… I've said too much".

"Have you?" Anders inquired with a sing-song voice, "Meredith being crazy sounds like every day's news to me".

'Meredith being crazy' was everything Anders heard from the Mage Underground and his contacts everyday of every week of every month… It worried him to no end; Cullen did not have to know any of that, though.

"You haven't changed at all", Cullen said, "while I can't remember who I was".

Anders almost stopped walking altogether.

They didn't speak a word afterwards.

 **…**


	2. DOS:SOD

serah-pounce-a-bell . tumblr . com

(also on AO3)

* * *

 **Mirror Maze**

…

 **D O S : S O D**

 **...**

Claustrophobia.

The walls were closing in around them. Darkness crawling, creeping, scratching at his back, over the scars he wanted to deny even to himself. The silence eating away the strength he needed to speak, to bring some piece of reality. Anders was going to hyperventilate if he didn't get himself in control. The memories of his time in solitary confinement still fresh, would always be fresh, in his mind. The mage trembled and not from the cold.

He had Mr. Wiggums back in solitary at least. Here, he had…

"Cullen, I know four different ways to get into the Circle that don't include these Maker damned walls crushing us", he rambled.

"And you refused to tell me where they were. Shut up, we don't want to be heard".

"If we go back now, I'll even tell you about that fifth secret passage".

"I thought all of them were secret".

"Yeah well… That one is special in the way it doesn't include these Maker damned walls _crushing_ us".

But the walls weren't. The stairways they had walked for what it felt like hours were between the inner and outer wall of the Circle, and Anders knew it as he had used them before. Not for this long, though. Justice's energy flowing around his very being was a presence comfortable enough to get him to calm himself. Not even in his darkest moment did the Spirit fail to do his best for Anders.

It made the mage feel even more guilty of the corruption he bestowed upon Justice, because the spirit, _spirit_ , was not made to deal with his mortal rage nor the Warden Taint. Everything he seemed to try for a good cause ended in the worst way possible: helping Karl, Karl dead. Helping Justice, Vengeance. Helping the mages… He knew, _they_ knew, it could only end one way.

Sooner than later, they would be no more.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Not really, Cullen".

"Wouldn't expect it any other way from you".

He was almost thankful for Cullen's company. But _not really_. Still, having someone to make some small talk came in handy.

"So… Bethany".

"We are not doing this. Tell me you're not doing this".

"C'mon, give a man some material to work on! You were always too righteous and too coward to do what the worst of your kind does to mages".

Anders knew his jibber jabber was nothing but his defense mechanism in action. He also knew he felt sorry for Cullen and his hopeless crushes. It wouldn't end like the last one if everything went according to the very suspicious plan the Templar had, though.

"… Thanks? I guess I could say the same about you". _Can he?_ Justice's voice doubted. Cullen continued, "I can't… look at her without remembering Surana… I… Surana was… We… She deserved better. Bethany deserves better".

 _Not all templars my ass_ , Anders thought, chosing to keep his mouth shut for once. Even those that considered themselves the very best and well-behaved among other Templars only were so because they saw good in just one or two mages, like they were the real abnormalities. What about the rest? Did they deserved to die in the place of those the Templar favored? Of course, Surana had died, not even the best-loved were safe. No mage was.

Anders wondered, making himself think of something else, how had Bethany been lately. The last he heard of her was that she loved helping the younger mages, that she _liked_ being in the Circle.

 _She does not know better_ , Justice argued.

 _Doesn't she?_

Anders knew how she felt. He'd lived on the run too, he still did. But he also had known the warmth of a home, the happiness of a complete family and going to sleep without fear. Back then, before being Anders.

When he was just _another_ Anders and had a name.

"How long until we reach her?"

"Just a couple of floors more, there's a room not many people use at this hour-..."

"The clothes deposit?"

"Yes, how did you… Stupid question".

"I told you I knew this place".

And he had at least two maps of the Gallows, with its many entrances and exits. Smuggling mages was no easy task and he did most of the leg work on his own. The lack of physical support stopped him from being more assertive in his movements, but one body moved easily and hiding himself without worrying for another had been preferable.

Anders also refused to bring another down with him.

"We're here", said Cullen, facing a wall. Obviously a fake one, made of wood a movable, as Cullen pushed it aside. It probably appeared to be a closet from the other side, Anders had seen trapdoors alike.

The room was round and _so_ dark, no windows. Empty.

 _What if_.

In that very moment, Anders knew it was a trap. He had known all the time to be honest with himself but _what if it wasn't what if something really happens to Bethany I can deal with them all of them_. Before the mage could even move a finger, Smite was casted upon him. Justice screamed before the silence of being cut from the Fade ate him too.

The flame of a suddenly lit torch brought light to the room, allowing Anders to finally see he was surrounded by Templars, with Cullen at his back closing the passage.

 _I told me so_ , he thought.

"So..." Anders managed to say, out of air and forcing himself to keep his body uptight, "A nice surprise party for me. Cullen, you didn't have to, it's not even my birthday".

"I did. I did have to do this, Anders". Cullen's voice was heavy with something another man from another place and time would have called remorse. "If I didn't, Bethany would be made Tranquil in your place".

He could have cried until his eyes dried off, screamed until his throat bled and pulled on every hair on his head but Anders fought against himself with everything he had. He was not going down like that. _I've gotten out of worse, much worse, haven't I?_

"And you would fed me to these dogs easily, no matter I'm the only one in this Maker damned city that gives a shit about us", Anders said, resentment present in every syllable. Some of the Templar rounding him laughed and their laugh even sounded like barks. Fear clouded his eyes more that the looming darkness did from before and all Templar became monstrous silhouettes dancing at the rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I cared! I tried to help!" Cullen screamed, "I tried and tried and you and your kind has done nothing more than show me the world would be better without magic".

"Has your pretty Templar world been better without Surana?", Anders bit back. All the looks save for his went to Cullen. Oh, how he wanted to look at that pale and sallow face with bigger eye bags than his own, a clear hint he hadn't slept in Maker know how long. _No rest for the wicked._

"I told you not to bring her into any of this", his voice nothing but a growl that came out more similar to a puppy's whimper.

"Never been any good at doing what I'm told, sorry".

"It shows", said a third voice. A figure moved to stand right in front of him and pierced him with a pair of eyes so cold and so blue they rivaled Justice's.

"Ah, Meredith. Are you my not-birthday present? Or maybe the one behind this nice surprise for me. How thoughtful".

Meredith Stannard, Kinght-Commander, regarded him with her head high, shoulders squared and feet apart. Her pose reeked superiority and looked right at Anders like he was a mere wounded animal. The mage refused to look down or at anything but her eyes.

"I am, aren't I? Always giving every man and mage what they deserve". Her voice, colder than her eyes, made him shiver. The effects from the Smite could be felt in full force at that moment, as if her voice had any kind of control over them.

"Because mages aren't men". He defied. Meredith seemed unaffected by his sarcasm.

"Indeed. There may still be hope for you, apostate".

"Nice to see we agree on something. Now, if you could just agree a little more with me on how your men treat mine, it would be great".

"Or maybe you could agree not to cause any more trouble to us and… _yours_. I've been informed of your latest activities and it would be to the advantage of both of us if you stopped".

"Not going to happen as long as mages suffer and I breathe, my most sincere apology", _kill me, kill me if you must but don't you dare to take the Fade from me._

"That can be arranged. Cullen, with me".

Anders heard the man approach but the hit to the back of his knees was caught him off guard. He fell but never stopped from looking back at Meredith until Cullen appeared on his line of sight. Anders spoke to him with a laugh between his words. The situation was hilarious, with Anders at Cullen's feet, just where the Templar had been at the start.

"Going to defile your hands with more mage blood, Cullen? Wasn't hers enough?"

"Ignore him, Knight-Captain. Those are nothing but empty words coming from an empty vessel for demons".

 _Not really empty though_. Anders kept speaking, anything to draw a reaction from him.

"Why don't you tell your Commander how you went easily to the floor when you got me? How you cried at the feet of this demon vessel for another of us. Don't you know that today you kill me for Bethany but who will take the hit in her place tomorrow? And the day after that?".

Cullen's lower lip trembled more than Anders' hands. He had him. Of course, Meredith just had to speak again.

"As I said, nothing but empty words and lies from you, apostate. The Knight-Captain is not going to kill you, your death is of no interest to us".

 _No._

"Do not worry", she said, "you will not feel a thing after this. Captain, you know what to do".

 _No…_

He cried then, tears running down his face, but did not look away from Cullen while he got closer. _Don't you dare look away from me, don't you dare stop my face from hunting you at night along hers. Don't you dare you-…_

Anders screamed.

He was no more.

...


	3. TRES:SERT

serah-pounce-a-bell . tumblr. com

I apologize for this slip in the schedule, can't promise it won't happen again neither. Work and college are destroying me completely but here you go. This turned out to be longer than usual and I'm very nervous because my English REALLY sucks and this entire fic suck. K b y e

Angry dwarf is angry.

…

 **Mirror Maze**

…

 **TRES: SERT**

…

In retrospect, it made sense that Sebastian had been the first of Hawke's band to know.

Maybe. It was highly unclear.

The Chantry brother wasn't the first to speak to Anders, mind you, the sun on his forehead rendered Sebastian speechless or so he had said. The motives of his visit were and would always be a mystery to all parties involved, maybe finding Anders and informing Hawke was part of someone's plan, or maybe the encounter was nothing more than a mere coincidence. The Maker works in mysterious ways, doesn't He?

Hate and magic be damned, Sebastian thought for a second before apologizing to superior powers, he had never wanted this to be real to be honest, Anders did good work helping those in sickness and need _and who would take care of Darktown now, Hawke? Who?_

Varric's suite at the Hanged Man was a place Fenris liked for its warmth and familiarity, it was one of the few places he felt safe, especially when most of his companions were there with him like most days. That day, the room felt cold and heavy with everyone lost in their own thoughts and trying to digest the news.

Sebastian spoke for twenty minutes or so, Fenris guessed, walking around Varric's suite and going over his own steps over and over again. At first glance, Sebastian's antics seemed to be originated from worry and guilt, and they were. The cause of such feelings were from a different source than the one would expect from the issue at hand. Aveline had cursed, Varric didn't believe him, Isabela had stormed out the moment she'd heard the news and Hawke...

Garrett Hawke hadn't cared. He even seemed relieved and full of himself.

Fenris... Fenris though, he watched. Vigilant of the others, not knowing how to react. Garrett looked at him, as if expecting the elf to share his sentiment. Fenris felt nothing. Nothing at all. The void inside his chest perplexed him more than picturing himself raging or enjoying the news.

"You are full of shit, Choir boy", said Varric with Bianca ready in his arms.

"I wish I was, my friend... Maker, Varric, my words will never do any justice to the scene…".

"Interesting choice of words", Fenris spat. Hawke laughed, attracting and afflicted look from the dwarf. "Are you certain of what you saw?"

"Yes, my friend", replied Sebastian, slouching on the nearest chair, "even from the considerable distance between Anders and I… He seemed and behaved like a completely different person".

"Because it probably was a completely different person", interjected Aveline. "We are talking about a possessed apostate and ex-Warden. The man would set the world on fire before he let himself be made Tranquil".

"We also haven't seen him in days no matter where we look", said Hawke nonchalantly.

Silence filled the room once again, Fenris noticing Hawke's uncaring posture and feeling slightly disturbed by it. The man who fought against the Arishok for a city and a woman was the same man that carried an eased smile at the notion of one of his being trapped. Possibly dead (in more ways than expected).

"No matter _who Varric paid to_ look", grumbled Varric, "because you never moved even a finger".

"It's not the first time he goes away for a couple of days", said Aveline, "we can't really keep ignoring we know of his operations with this Mage Underground of his".

"The same Underground that was disbanded almost two months ago thanks to the Templars". Varric drank his entire cup before continuing, "And you said it yourself, a couple of days, never this long. Am I, out of the Chantry brother, the _Champion_ and the Captain of the sodding Guard, sorry for leaving you out this time Broody, the only one worried about Blondie? Our Healer and only mage?"

While talking, Varric looked at all of them one by one as he mentioned their titles accusingly. Sebastian and Aveline had the grace to appear ashamed.

"Might as well be", said Hawke, playing with one of his daggers, making it dance across his hand. Dwarf and man looked at each other and Fenris could feel something break between them both. "He's been doing more damage than good us as he is, losing control over Justice and attacking us with shades of all things… Made me feel Merrill never left us".

The Corypheus Incident was still fresh on everyone's mind, even those that haven't been there physically. Fenris knew that it was an issue far from over but after blood magic, Anders turning their back on then as the elf had said he would many, many times, and _Magisters_ (everything bad in Thedas involved magisters, really) were things he'd hoped could leave out from any conversation in years, at least. More so after how the adventure had affected Hawke.

Varric made it seem like an invention for his books and tales but deep down they all knew Garrett Hawke had hallucinated with his dead mother. Dead because of mages, the elf might add.

The dwarven storyteller stood up. He'd never seem so tall before and spoke with a menacing growl, Bianca loaded and ready.

"Get out, all of you".

Hawke was the first to go, followed closely by Sebastian. Aveline and Fenris looked at each other, the woman nodded. The signal clear, she wanted to speak with Fenris.

They closed the door behind them and Aveline gestured for him to follow her, not looking back and leaving Varric alone for the time being. On their way oy of the Hanged Man, Aveline spoke lowly and loud enough to be heard above the usual ruckus of the Hanged Man if you were and elf and paid enough attention.

"Do you think Isabela went to find out herself?"

"A direct and straightforward course of action is not really her thing", Fenris answered. "Unless it involves sex".

"Certainly", she said, clearing her throat, "How are you taking the news?"

"We still don't know if it is true at all", Fenris noted, "This is one of the logical ways for his madness to end, if you ask me, it was just a matter of time. But… I do… Not know how to feel, exactly".

"So I'm not the only one. One would think Anders would get himself killed before… this". With a heavy sigh, she continued. "Varric is right, I should care more. The man took care of a part of the city no Guard or Champion did before and he had no obligation to do so, unlike I do".

"He also had no obligation to become an abomination".

"An abomination that did the job I'm supposed to do better than I do it. Doesn't make me look exactly good".

"Not really". Fenris noted Aveline was guiding him to the Blooming Rose, hopefully not to rent them both a room, he thought swallowing a laugh. The joke wouldn't be of any good to the Guard. "You want me to talk to Isabela".

"I do. The woman knows something and Maker be damned if I don't get to the bottom of this".

"We have one abomination less in the world, what else is there to it?"

Aveline slowed her pace and forced herself to keep her head high. The sun of the dusk brought images of suns in foreheads and the tingle of healing magic across her mind. "It… It just feels so wrong to do nothing about this, no matter how late it may seem".

Fenris wanted to understand, he really did. Both Aveline at that moment and the mage all those years. He knew they had tried to reach each other in countless ways but he also knew all their efforts would be in vain. There would be no middle ground to find themselves in, only fights until one gave up.

Or was made Tranquil, apparently.

"What makes you think she's there?", Fenris asked.

"Could she be anywhere else?"

 _Yes_ , the elf thought, _she could be anywhere in the world if she wished to and yet she stays_. Fenris paid attention to those he deemed as enemies but he paid even closer attention to those he considered friends, and Isabela and Aveline were among the best an elf like himself could ever find in his life he believed. As such, he knew the Guard-Captain wasn't thinking clearly, trying to work herself into anything just to deny the fact she had come to care for the mage and she had done nothing like the rest of them.

 _Again_ , he added to his thoughts remembering Merrill. The burden of a second loss was obvious among his friends.

And as such, Fenris also knew Isabela would be anywhere _but_ the Blooming Rose.

"I'll take care of Sebastian", said Aveline interrupting Fenris' thoughts, "and you go talk with the whore about whatever, I just don't know anymore".

Better than doing nothing at least.

* * *

"I should buy a boat", Isabela said with a melodious tone on her tone, swinging her long and bare legs over the border of the stone wall she was sitting on. "Better yet, an entire ship. Queen Pirate Isabela, how does that sound?"

Fenris found the woman in the first place he went to look for her (something he felt proud of), the docks. The setting sun made all her ostentatious jewelry shine but couldn't do the same for the dull look in her eyes. She was looking right at the Gallows. Fenris crossed his arms and laid back against the wall tall enough to reach his hips, at less than an arm's length from Isabela.

"Why did you run today?"

"Always straight to the point, such a warrior thing". There was no point in delaying things between them and she did answer after getting no comment from Fenris. "It was my fault".

Fenris frowned and spat to the floor muttering some colorful tevene.

"Hear me out first, sweetcheeks", she laughed.

"It is no one's fault but the mage's if he got himself what he deserved, why would anyone blame themselves over this is beyond me. Much less you-...". Isabela reached for Fenris, touching the wrist that wore Hawke's red scarf and making the elf shut his mouth. Looking at each other, she sighed asking _please_.

"Listen to me", she pleaded before returning to her previous position but still holding Fenris' hand. "I could have done something. Really".

Fenris had seen Isabela being serious and mindful before, it was usual in their late conversations, and he would never take lightly what she said with the heavy voice weighting down her usual carefree demeanor. He hadn't suggested the duel against the Arishok for Kirkwall's safety but for his friend's, even if that meant sending the one man he cared so much for to a dance with death itself.

He won and was able to walk like nothing happened the very next day thanks to the mage cleaning and fixing the mess Hawke ended as, the mess that Fenris caused and made him decide he was undeserving of his love.

"Still with me, sailor?", Isabela asked to get his attention.

"Always", he answered cocking an eyebrow. She laughed.

"Now, where was I? Oh, right", the smile fell from her face once again as she started her tale. "A month ago, at Hawke's he spoke to me about blood, mages and surprise, bloodmages. We were just a little bit drunk, I'll admit that but it's no excuse for all the things he started blabbering about. He seemed like what I imagine Meredith slipping in her tub and blaming bloodmagic for it"

The joke made no one laugh. "The point is", she went on, "that Hawke mentioned Anders was getting out of control, saying that Sparklefingers could get Justice out of his body, some weird explosion noises and something about no more daggers in bed. A shame, really. Still, he said he would take care of it once and for all, that it should be easy because he had done it so many times before".

"I still see no reason to blame your drunken self. Nor his".

"Don't you see?", her voice strained, "Don't you remember him leaving Bethany alone in the Circle? He told me, he did, it was on purpose. And I know, I just know Merrill didn't leave us, she ran away from something and that something is Hawke. Whatever he did to them he did to Anders and I knew all this time and did nothing and now Bethany and Kitten… I can't believe I came back for this man and I can't believe I love this man".

"Hawke is a good man", Fenris countered, freeing his hand from Isabela's hold, "he gave us all a chance and they wasted it. Don't you remember him fighting for you? For all of us?"

"Hawke is a good man for his friends", a third voice added, "how sad that magic is not his friend".

Varric was standing behind them frowning, Bianca at his back.

"Can you blame him?", Fenris asked.

"Can anyone?", said Varric for an answer.

"You do", Isabela commented not looking at anything but the Gallows again.

"I do", Varric stated, "because my _best_ friend is breaking my _family_ apart sending our mages away. Blondie and his maps were the only reason Hawke can shit up there with the rich of Hightown, and he saved my blighted brother too".

"Mages are the reason he's there alone", the elf argued.

"No", Isabela interrupted, "he's alone because you ran away the morning after and because I don't feel like settling down".

"I don't give a nug's shit about Templars, mages and robes up anyone's ass", said Varric ignoring Isabela's comment like Fenris wanted to do, "but I do care for Blondie and I'm going to see him tomorrow, Bianca has a gift for every person standing in our way".

"And just what do you think you'll do when you find him?", the pirate inquired, "as I guess glad-to-see-you-again sex is out of the question".

"Let me see him first and then I'll decide. You are more than welcome to come, of course. Worst case scenario, Choir Boy said the truth".

"What if he did, dwarf?"

"Then I'll do what Blondie would have wanted me to do, elf".


	4. CUATRO:ORTUAC

**Mirror Maze**

 **...**

 **CUATRO : ORTUAC**

…

 _"Then I'll do what Blondie would have wanted me to do, elf"._

…

That night, dreamless sleep came easily to him.

Fenris felt rested when he woke up, with the events from the previous day took taking their time to come back to his memories.

Really, it was around the middle of the morning, when the markings hurt the most, that he thought of the mage and the special ointments Anders made for him to make the pain decrease, free of charge as long as he helped collect the ingredients and remembered to bring back the empty bottles. A truce between them, product of so many years _barking_ at each other. He wondered if there were some ready expecting for Fenris to get them at the Clinic, and there probably was as the mage usually had a batch made regularly.

On his way out of the mansion, glass bottles clinking inside his pack, the Sun shinning high made his recently awake mind work and he remembered.

Anders was _Tranquil_.

Or so Sebastian said.

Also, Varric hadn't specified whom he was talking to when he mentioned visiting Anders.

If Fenris didn't have any plans with Hawke that day, well, then he could make some on his own. Painfully, he made his way to the Hanged Man just like any other day. He shouldn't have allowed himself the luxury of permitting the help of a mage, much less with the markings: his own weight to carry for the rest of his life.

Fenris left the bottles at the Mansion, still packed just in case ( _of what?_ ).

The Hanged Man, like the day before, had been full of life and sounds. So many sound it could have given Fenris a headache if he stood in the middle of it for more than a couple of minutes. Luckily, he found Varric coming out of his room. The dwarf had been genuinely surprised when he first had seen Fenris but quickly recovered from his astonishment.

"Bianca and I figured we'd end up going alone", the dwarf said, smiling and eyeing Fenris with cold eyes, "seems we were wrong".

Varric, Fenris noticed, had profound dark circles under his eyes and smelled stronger than ever of the horrible ale he drank almost daily. Of course, his clothes and Bianca were immaculate. The contrast left Fenris uneasy. Something wasn't right.

"You were", he answered simply.

"Not running today behind Hawke's tail, aren't we?"

"No, it's not Tuesday".

"I'm not getting a reason for your company, am I?"

"No".

"Good, just clearing that out". Varric patted Fenris back twice and braced himself for the day to come rolling his shoulders, "let's get this over with".

Fenris did not mention Isabela's absence, he'd knew she wouldn't go with them from the look the pirate gave him on the docks. She, who joked about freedom and spirits and demons; she, who shared a night with the mage long ago. She, who took his hand in the Deep Roads. She, who cared.

Isabela, who loved the man she believed had caused this. Nonsense, the elf thought, but if there was a thing he understood, it was that one. Varric seemed to do so too.

The way to Lowtown was full of insignificant commentary by Varric, remarking on trivial facts of their not so trivial life. Maybe his next book should be about a person coming back to life, about people born with two souls, or an epic rescue quest full of witty dialogue, busty barmaids and a one-armed qunari that only knew how to speak orlesian. Fenris did not share the dwarf's empty laugh nor did he miss the projections on his ideas, but that would be a conversation for another day (preferably never).

Jokes and ironies aside, most of Varric's dialogue had turned forced the closer they got to the docks, and the elf suspected it was not only the impeding sense of doom but having to get onto a boat too. Not even the many sounds of the sailors and merchants, birds and waves, could drown the dwarf's voice for Fenris's ears, even when the elf was trying to find the right ride for them to travel.

A boy standing on a wooden boat was looking at him. A boy he'd seen before but where? No matter, the row in his hands told Fenris the kid worked as the rower for the old and sad piece of wood. It would suffice. Varric followed him with a disgusted expression but said nothing, apparently recognizing the kid as well.

Before boarding the boat that would take them to the Gallows, the warrior spoke.

"Why did you not use your contacts to find about the mage's whereabouts instead of going yoursefl? You surely have this city covered from the highest tower…", he asked. _Hawkeless_ leg work did not suit the dwarf in Fenris' opinion.

"… To the lowest rat-hole", Varric ended, trying to accommodate himself on the boat, "y'know, I will fight anyone that dares to say to my face that dwarves are only made for the life underground but, oh boy, dwarves and water only go together if it's used to water down our ale. And not even then, Broody".

Fenris signaled the brittle boy, offering him three pieces of gold. The kid took the coins with his trembling hands and hid them inside his tattered shoes. Fenris grabbed the row himself and the look on his eyes told Varric he was not to comment on it. Ever.

"Blondie would have swan all the way to the shore easily", the dwarf said instead.

"His stubbornness would have him swimming entire seas for his cause, I will give him that". His reflection, broken by the ripples he caused with the row on the water, looked back at him. His face, the only one he remembered carrying, seemed almost foreign. The situation was of no help whatsoever either… Fenris on a boat to see…

"… Anders", Varric finished saying something Fenris hadn't heard. One look was enough to reach the dwarf's understanding. "I said the kid back there used to visit him at his clinic constantly, his mother needed, _needs_ , a remedy only Anders made for free. I'll see that Tomwise gives him a generous discount".

"He wasn't the only one", said Fenris remembering the empty bottles at the mansion. "You did not answer me".

"What do you want me to say? Half the men I paid to take care of Anders disappeared and the other half are dead. All of their families, thought, all of them are now pretty much out of any debt they had. And no one know absolutely nothing, no matter how much money I put on the table". Varric sighed, his shoulders falling, "No matter how much… You still want me to think it wasn't Hawke? Who else could have done this?"

"Templars", Fenris answered, it was the obvious for him.

"Oh, Broody", Varric laughed mirthlessly, "all the men I had a deal with had problems with the Chantry and an interest in keeping Anders safe. Whoever did this not only had the means to cover everything from me but also had to knew whom to speak with and how to buy their silence".

The look of utter defeat did not suit Varric at all, Fenris thought keeping himself from making further comments, questioning the dwarf would only demonstrate how much he had tried, searched and failed. He wondered if Varric could manage to give Anders his allegedly last will in his current emotional state when he hadn't been able to let go of his brother. And if the dwarf couldn't do it…

The elf's grasp around the row tightened. Killing the mage had been a common thought once, killing mages (rogue or blood ones) a common activity, but to do it because of mercy to Anders was a novelty. The man was his companion and had fought at his side no matter how much they declared hating each other, he even fought for him against Hadriana and took the time to create a temporal relief from his markings. Justice aside, had there been more mages like Anders maybe, and only maybe, things could have been different for them all. His death would bring Fenris no happiness at all and he suspected being the one to grant it to the mage could only enlarge the emotional void inside the elf.

Their silence only heightened the Gallows' ominous atmosphere when its entrance greeted them with its closeness. Fenris was tempted to go back and forward at the same time, dreading giving an answer to the topic at hand and needing one to be free of the crushing doubt. Varric seemed no better, worse even.

He adjusted the dagger in his belt.

Leaving the tattered boat at the shore, elf and dwarf ventured into the Gallows. As usual, the many statues of slaves that decorated the plaza filled him with anger and disgust but what made bile raise inside himself was seeing the Tranquil selling their meager wares. It was a picture that would never fit the mage nor the abomination nor the healer in Anders.

Of course, that Anders was no more, for the man himself was sitting on a bench in the distance, he carved sun indistinguishable for Fenris' elven eyes, right above an alien lack of expression in his usually communicative face. The dagger in his hip felt heavier than the sword on his back.

So, it was true.

Despite being pretty much in an open space, Varric's steps echoed in his ears, "Is that… Blondie? It can't be".

But it was.

The closer the pair got, the sheer wrongness the man emanated became clearer. Combed and slightly shorter hair out of his typical tie, Circle robes, no staff and empty soulless eyes looked back at them with no sign of recognition that went beyond tensed shoulders and jaw. The vivid image of misery and desperation (though Varric came a close second).

"Hey, Blondie", Varric said not bothering to smile and cover the disappointment on his face, "Bianca wanted to say hi". Adjusting the crossbow in his hold, his position told Fenris a shot between the eyes or through the heart would do the trick.

"Varric, Bianca", Anders greeted drably looking down at the dwarf from his seat. Then, turning his head slowly… "Fenris".

"Mage".

"Not anymore".

All the thing Fenris hadn't felt in an entire week came crashing down on him at that very moment.

Not even with the tall man sitting down could Fenris tower him properly but his menacing posture and look would have made up for it had Anders any capability to feel fear. Or anything at all. Still, the elf got close and grabbed him by the disgusting robe he would never wear in a normal situation. Before he could slap some sense in the man, in himself or into the world, Varric stopped him holding his arm and receiving the sneer the elf gave him alongside Anders.

"How could you be so stupid?", Fenris growled at the blond man, letting the anger he knew how to deal with flow. To be driven by the sadness and desperation was not something he could manage with. Much less there in the open where he would have to accept them instead of the denial he'd been working with.

"Broody, let him go", Varric pleaded, "let him go".

"This was the right course of action, Fenris", Anders spoke, his voice lacking in tone a too close, too close, too close to him, "The world is safer now with a mage less in it, isn't this what I deserved?"

Before the elf could even question if it was, Varric answered, "No, no it isn't, Anders!", he pushed Fenris aside and took one of Anders hands, "stop with the _nugshit_ , Blondie, no one deserves this".

"It's nice to see you again, Varric", Anders said unconvincingly, his empty voice failed to convey what his words meant, "your visits will always be welcomed", without looking at Fenris, he continued, "yours too, Fenris, I'm glad we can finally put aside the past and see eye to eye. You were right all this time".

But he wasn't.

Whose face the man carried now was unimportant, he wasn't Anders. Anders would have wanted to die and he probably had at the moment magic had been taken from him. The mage was dead and the Tranquil would not mind, would not feel, his rage nor anything at all.

Or so Fenris believed, trying to convince himself that his trail of thoughts weren't just excuses because he couldn't do it.

"Fenris", Anders called, bringing him back to the mortal realm. Something flicked in his eyes for a mere second, "your markings". _Fasta vass_. Stubbornness characterized the man, of course there would be a part of him that lingered behind even after he faded away, the mage always put the other before him and apparently still would do so. "Tomwise knows the recipe, ask on my behalf and you should get a discount in your purchases".

Varric eyed him but Fenris, unable to speak, only nodded in the man's direction. Ah, he was no better than Varric.

"I'll..." Varric started in a wavering voice, sharing a look with Fenris, " _we'll_ come back soon, alright, Blondie?"

"Maker be with you both".

The elf suddenly had the need to kick Sebastian in the crotch.

"Didn't expect to see you here", someone said behind their backs.

Knight-Captain Cullen regarded them nervously, his Templar armor shining in the sun. The bags under his eyes filled Fenris with a certain amount of delight. His gaze went from the dwarf to the elf and from the elf to the dwarf to settle on Anders, who ignored him. Varric's hold of Anders' hand stiffened and Fenris changed to a firmer posture.

"Just a friendly visit, nothing else", Varric commented nonchalantly, "we were on out way out".

Before Cullen could question them, Fenris sneered. "How long has he been like that? How long have you know?"

Cullen lowered his head frowning, "a week".

"Which question are you answering?" Varric inquired.

"Both. I was there when it happened".

Hearing the Templar was enough for Fenris, "you did it", he declared between his teeth.

"He had too", said Anders suddenly while standing up and letting go of Varric's hand. His abrupt addition to the conversation left the other without words and could only look as he walked to stand besides Cullen.

"I'm taking care of him, not letting other Templars get close at any moment. He's not exactly a fan-favorite amongst them", Cullen said, Anders closeness causing him obvious discomfort.

"Not even you trust those of your Order, why should we trust you?", Fenris asked with a grunt, forcing himself to stay in one place.

"It's all we can do now", Cullen simply said turning his back at them, "let's go, Tranquil".

Anders followed him and Fenris remembered for a second when magisters referred to him as slave. Circles might have been a necessity, to stop mages from forming another Imperium, but Tranquility?

"Pay attention, elf", Varric said. Fenris, intrigued, looked at the backs of the men walking away from them.

Anders looked back and winked.


	5. CINCO:OCNIC

_ha ha im alive_

 _ **Also on AO3.**_ **Tumbr:** .com

 **AND NOW FOR SOMEONE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT**

* * *

 **Mirror Maze**

…

 **CINCO : OCNIC**

…

It had been three years, seven months and one week since Salome had been made Tranquil at his own request. From then on, life had been much simpler without the constant nag of feelings nor doubt in his head. The lack of dreams made his not so many tasks easier too and had been a major reason for choosing his current destiny.

It also had been three years, seven months and one week since he came into the Circle, willingly, crying and holding his daughter's frozen corpse in his arms. He had carried it all the way from the Alienage with his wife crying behind. Salome wasn't glad he couldn't see his child's face when he slept nor feel anything when thoughts of his wife crossed his empty mind. There was only peace and tranquility.

Magic was, above all things, the art of expecting the unexpected some would say. And yet there were certain patterns in its behavior that helped predict with some extent of accuracy what was supposed to happen and what was not.

Manifesting itself in an elf of his age, whom also lacked relatives with magical abilities, was certainly not supposed to happen. Much less in the form of freezing his own daughter to death. Removing it was the only logical course of action.

And so, like every other Tranquil in the Circle, Salome did his tasks, sold his wares under the sun and endured the Templars under the moon. To not feel was to not care. And to not care was to not mind, it had been his choice after all. And when the Knight-Captain appeared in front of him the previous week and ordered him to leave all his duties to attend to some private business and _don't speak a word about it to anyone_ he, unsurprisingly, did not mid.

He followed the Knight-Captain all the way down to the cellar, where the solitary confinement took place, until they reached an almost hidden door that opened to reveal a little room with only a torch to shed some light into it. The fire allowed him to see the place was occupied by a human in torn and dirty robes, a mage, sleeping on a pile of hay.

The darkness meant nothing to elven eyes and Salome did not miss the freshly burnt sun on the man's forehead. Anders was his name, according to the Knight-Captain, and to care for his health in complete silence was Salome's newest task. Not a word to any other person about Anders' condition and a _please, a daily report of his recovery_.

Salome was not intrigued but he also _wasn't_ not intrigued. A weird state to be in for someone of his kind. Inquiring further upon previous events led the Knight-Captain to reveal that his transition had been a painful and complicated one and that the man, Anders, had been asleep for half a day. The Knight-Captain refused to speak another word on the subject and hastily added that Salome was to ask directly to him if he needed anything for his work before leaving him alone.

By merely eyeing the body, he noticed blood coming from his nose and that someone had tried to clean his face. There were some rags and a bucket full of water. It would be a good start as any other.

The elf gathered the tall body in his arms and started cleaning his blood-smeared face. Anders' hair was greasy, his brow covered in cold sweat and his breaths ragged and irregular. A fever was forthcoming if not already starting. No other sign of sickness could be seen, for his face held no indication of pain and his sleep was as peaceful as it could be. The hands, long and calloused, were moist too. Those were not the hands of a circle scholar but of a warrior.

An apostate.

Salome spent the rest of the day and the beginning of the night battling the approaching fever to the best of his ability, only stopping to search for the Knight-Captain and request a change of clothes. The man brought him a brand new set of circle robes and took away the ones Anders wore after helping him to undress the sleeping man.

The man had countless of scars across his back, with the biggest one also appearing at the front. The Knight-Captain cursed left them once again immediately after seeing them, old and badly healed. Later, Salome left too when he finished cleaning and dressing him.

The next day he worked alone against the fever, which had gotten worse through the night, feeding the man broths and forcing water down his throat. It was difficult telling the time of the day while inside the cell but darkness never bothered him. Nothing did, anyways. But the sounds from the outside world were enough for him to know when to feed and when to leave that day.

If the man slept for another day, Salome doubted he'd ever wake up. An odd case for a Tranquil, as the transition was usually immediate and painless. It was obvious the body was rejecting something more than a mere sickness. He said so in his daily report and the Knight-Captain wasn't pleased at all but did not say much, only prompted him to continue his labor as he was doing.

Anders was not awake by the third day.

But something else was.

Salome was not scared but, once again, he _wasn't_ not scared either and retreated fast when a hand with cracked skin raised in his direction. Anders was sitting on his ankles and looking at the wall in front of him, not at Salome, and yet the elf knew he was being watched.

"Anders", he called.

"Not yet", was the answer he got from an echoing voice, "but soon".

A couple of blue orbs where Anders' eyes should have been looked back at him, the pain clear in them.

"What are you?" Salome asked.

"I do not know anymore", the voice answered. Salome knew it, for it was not Anders, spoke a truth that hurt the very core of its being. When it talked again, its voice became more solid, resolute, "but I know what we are not and what we will never be as long as I exist. Anders and I that is, as we are one and not even death could do us apart. You may refer to me as Justice, though I fear it's a mantle I no longer deserve".

 _Justice_ was smiling.

"Now", it continued, "I must keep working". The smile fell from his face before he added with a voice that echoed inside Salome's head "you will not tell your Captain of my presence, not even after I'm finished".

Salome had a spirit, a demon, Justice, possessing a body at his very feet and yet, and yet. And yet. Any trace of Justice on Anders' skin went away and it was like he'd never been there, the man returning to his sleep and the fever still alive and raging. But Salome knew and Salome could not lie. And yet.

It was the first time in three years, seven months and three days that Salome, the raggedy Tranquil mid-aged elf, failed to follow an order from the Chantry.

The fourth day, Anders awoke.

Salome found him looking at his reflection one the water in the bucket, touching the burn on his forehead, trembling and crying, the fever completely gone. The elf noticed Anders' beard had grown long enough to catch the tears running down his cheeks.

Elves did not grow beards, so his ran free to the floor. They feel and _rolled_ , and when the elf knelt to see why, he observed his tears had become little spheres of ice. The room was freezing and the tips of Anders' fingers were completely blue.

"Stop", said Salome, only to be ignored.

So he repeated himself once, twice and thrice for Anders to ignore him every time.

Salome was not angry but, but, but, he wasn't not angry either and raised his voice as memories of a child surrounded by ice and cold and death and despair settled uncomfortably in his gut. He _hated_ being cold. He did.

"Stop!"

Anders looked at him and, oh, his eyes were normal and golden, irritated from crying and big. When a hand, lacking the blue cracks all over the skin, tried to reach him, Salome reached back and knelt beside the man to let him touch his mark. The man's cold fingers tingled against his burnt skin and as soon as they went away, so did Salome's not so nonexistent anger.

"You're crying".

Anders' voice was hoarse from the lack of use but strong enough to carry the weight of wonder, of confusion and raw emotion. The room becoming warmer by the second.

Salome had no comments and instead helped him eat more solid foods that day. His report to the Knight-Captain told of the man's awakening but absolutely nothing more.

On the fifth day, the Knight-Captain himself brought Anders food and moved him to a higher room, a closet almost, near the Tranquil quarters and equipped only with a bed. It had a door and a big window. From outside, it would seem like another broom closet no one used and later the Knight-Captain would comment it had been one until he relocated everything for Anders.

"It's the least that could be done", the Knight-Captain said.

Salome noticed Anders' hand twitched. The Knight-Captain commented on the heat, a weird thing for the season, and left them, not before telling that the elf was to keep an eye on Anders for the next weeks, that he would use the communal bathrooms and that there was a chest with clothes and other amenities under the bed.

On the sixth day, Anders' was well enough to eat with the rest of the Tranquil, whom did not show any interest in the new addition as usual, but Salome knew he had heard another voice, a familiar and echoing one, coming from his room when he got close to the door the previous night.

The seventh day, the Templars' avoidance of them, of Anders, became obvious. That day, the man had asked the Knight-Captain about a Bethany and the Captain evaded the question. Anders' room had been hot that night but otherwise the man showed as much emotion as Salome himself did.

The conversation between them was minimal. Simple and to the point. And it had been that way until the evening of the eight day. The present day.

Anders had just come back from the plaza alongside the Knight-Captain before he dragged Salome to his room with a skip on his steps. The Knight-Captain himself had cut off his stubble while insisting to being called _just Cullen_ by Anders, which lead Anders to look younger, cleaner and more obvious of his emotional state for the watchful eye. He was lucky that Templars tended to not appear on his way and that the Knight-Captain.

"I once painted his eyebrows pink", Anders commented casually while looking out of his window. Salome was sitting on the bed, impassive. "Lasted three full days like that".

With the same disinterested voice, Anders shared bits of his personal tales. Salome learnt that he came from Kinloch Hold back at Ferelden and that he once swam across Lake Calenhad. And that he owed his life to some demon possessed cat. There was no mention of Justice whatsoever.

When finished, Anders asked about his story and Salome discovered he did not want to share it. Did not want to speak about it and that he much less wanted this man to know it.

At that very moment, Salome stopped not being _this_ but _not_ being not _that_ to simply be.

And he was angry.

He bid Anders goodnight quickly and the anger faded away as soon as he left the room.

The only thing that lingered inside of him was Anders' " _goodnight, Sal_ ".


	6. SEIS:SIES

This is a mess and Anders is a mess and please vote **#BringBackJustice2k16**

I don't want to sound cliche'd but Anders is on a big emotional roller coaster (wow that was so 2010) and will go up and down and he doesn't know better. Game!Anders was right but Fic!Anders is so wrong right now and needs a hug.

(i need sleep haha will re-read this some day)

 **Also on AO3.**

* * *

 **Mirror Maze**

 **…**

 **SEIS : SIES**

 **…**

Since waking up days ago, Anders had spent all nights wide awake. He faked being asleep when Cullen dared to show his face in his room to check on him. He also faked being mostly fine when he was in the company of the Tranquil elf, Salome or as he called him: Sal. An appropriate and well-earned nickname, as the elf carried the saltiest face all the time.

The previous nights, Anders had been awake because of the piercing pain in his chest and the back of his head, which made him dizzy whenever he tried to get out of the bed without care or when he walked for an extended period of time. That night, however, it was his little slip-up to Varric _and Fenris_ that kept his eyes wide open and nailed to the ceiling. There was no turning back from that but he had been so excited _, and confused and hurt and guilty_ , to see them that Anders just had to let them know.

Had he?

Stubbornness and obstinacy stopped tears from falling. No more crying in a Circle, there was enough of that already he told himself before doing it anyways. It was difficult, learning how to control emotions once again especially for someone like Anders. The first days had been a complete nightmare, holding himself with everything he had (which was certainly not much) just to keep standing in place. Biting the inside of his cheeks until tasting blood just to maintain what he hoped was a blank expression _and no, don't laugh at Cullen, don't scream at Cullen and please don't kick him in the nuts_.

He almost blew his cover the day he woke up and knew he was still himself, when Salome found him crying over a bucket. Forget the almost, he did and the elf said nothing. To no one. Still, Salome looked at him as if expecting something to happen at any moment and did not behave like any other Tranquil he'd seen before.

Of course, he hadn't been this close to them, as he always tried to evade Tranquility in any of its forms. Maybe he really was Tranquil and what the Circle told everyone had been nothing but ugly, sad lies. Maybe Tranquility was nothing but a big ruse and they could still feel and laugh and cry like he did into the pillow every night at the same time but if they did so in front of people they would become, what, mabari hounds?

Maybe that's why those damned dogs were so smart and happy.

He tried picturing Karl as a dog and laughed. Then cried. And then thought he'd be better as a cat. Then cried again for both Karl and Ser Pounce-A-Lot, wherever he was.

It was sad that Anders had to distract himself with such ideas because when he did not, when he tried and failed to retain some remnants of whatever sanity he had left, dark thoughts surfaced in his mind and never left. The kind that Justice would push aside to keep him safe and concentrated. But Justice was completely silent.

Better said. Justice _wasn't_.

Justice wasn't there with him anymore, his friend may have been the price they had to pay for Anders to _feel_.

And Anders' sanity was the price he paid to _be_.

The spirit had been so cohesive with the man's being that to mark where one ended for the other to begin was simply impossible. By being Anders, he was both and they were one. Together, they had a purpose and a goal.

It had been quite a while since being just Anders. And the lone man had nothing. A part of he himself was lost forever and without Justice could he be what he once was so long ago? The apostate mage hiding from the Templars with the Wardens and only interested in his own safety? Did he even want to be that man again?

As vain as he'd been, he had hated himself before and hated himself now. The only time when he tried to love himself was when he was fused with Justice, because the spirit loved him. His friend loved him and he had loved his friend back. But now he couldn't because he was alone. Alone with his fears, his guilt and the cold that always clung to him.

His fingers were so uncontrollably cold he could freeze anything they got close to without the need to touch it, that's how he confirmed magic still ran through his veins. And he had to re-learn how to keep it in check or he would freeze a barn instead of burning it this time. Oh, the memories.

Thankfully, his supposed condition allowed him a private room with a large window and distance from the Templars, courtesy of the dear Knight-Captain Cullen. Years ago, Chantry eyes would follow his every move to kept Anders away from any kind of opening to the outside world. Now, for some reason (maybe the guilt was not exclusive to him) they looked the other way while whispering insults and degrading comments about the things they would do to him if they could, but they couldn't. Not anymore. Escaping was imminent.

Or would be, if there was somewhere or someone to run to.

Nor the Wardens nor the Clinic where safe and he'd done enough damage to the people related to those groups that would raise a helping hand for him. The Mage Underground was no more and Varric would surely take Hawke's side, after all his men were the ones supposed to alert him of any Templars.

But Varric had come see him to grant him the freedom from Tranquility he really didn't need. But the dwarf hadn't known and was willing to be the Anders to his Karl. Seeing his friend in his place and remembering the always fresh pain broke him. Anders had to let him know no matter if Fenris, of all people, was there too. And he was. He had been there supporting Varric looking all kinds of hurt for the both of them and angry at Cullen, putting himself between them to protect Anders.

Something told him, something that came entirely from him and only him instead of a driving force keeping him in check that they would keep their mouths shut.

Intuition, how weird.

So he clung to any vestige of company he had, be it the memory of his friends coming to see him or Salome's unwilling presence and silence, just to drive away his loneliness. Perhaps, if he was careful enough, he could get out for sure this time and…

Run away forever and disappear?

Continue his work?

Both options belonged to two different versions of Anders and as he was, he was none of them.

He was lost, afraid and confused but only the Maker knew he was not going to waste this chance. Maybe Justice did not deserve that only Anders survived but his friend's memory and honor deserved at least to keep fighting for what Anders had always believed in. And maybe, just maybe, that way he could win himself a spot at Karl and Justice's side up there.

But first, there were many things to do before he tried anything characteristically reckless.

* * *

While his sleeping quarters were private enough, his daily routine was anything but. Tranquil, like mages, had shared bathrooms and a public meal room but unlike mages, they were smaller and in a poorer condition. If possible, the food was worse and the soaps smelled acid while the bathtubs were uncomfortably small and had no way to heat the water. Of course, the mages' bathrooms didn't either but they had magic to do so in place of that.

Anders had magic too, but he wasn't supposed too and while Salome kept quiet about it, others may not, and no matter how casually close he stuck to the elf, to hold a conversation would be suspicious enough and he already had a hard time avoiding mirrors and most reflective surfaces to keep himself from seeing how well Circle robes fitted him.

The day after Varric and Fenris visit, Anders put on his best Aveline listening to Isabela's bullshit face and went on with his mundane tasks. He had the same schedule as the elf and they both had library duty, nothing but rearranging books, that morning. Back at Kinloch Hold, he used to race others to see who was the fastest reaching the top of the ladders, he usually was at the price of falling down. More than once he fell on little Amell and his tower of books, it was a wonder the tiny bookworm became the Warden Commander and Hero of Ferelden.

To say Anders missed him would be putting it mildly.

Of course, the moment he dared to set a foot in Amaranthine his head would roll on the floor.

Still, the memories were a good anchor for his emotional state and he had to admit that there had been truly good moments at Kinloch Hold. Karl would had the first place and he wouldn't change what they had nor what he taught him for anything in the world but messing with Darrian, Surana and Jowan had been just as good as stealing Greagoir's underwear.

While Kinloch Hold had had good and bad moments, the Gallows seemed to only be capable of producing an aura of impending doom upon its mages, which led to moments that went from bad to worse. Even the books of the Gallows' library couldn't be treated with the same carelessness, because they looked as if merely touching them would destroy their pages. And so, accommodating the shelves was a slow and perfect task for Tranquil hands.

And a not so perfect one for a secret mage with instant freeze hands. 'Try not to freeze the book' turned out to be both a good game and great practice for his wild magic, though, and kept him focused. Also, frozen spider webs were easier to clean.

A sound at his side startled Anders, who turned his head as meticulously as he could, and under the opaque lights of the library he saw Salome eyeing his hand with a blank expression while the other held an open book about herbs and flowers, according to the drawings on the pages. There was a color on them that did not come from the pictures, a fresh one. Red.

Salome had cut his finger with the paper and a drop of blood ran down his hand.

"Let me see that, Sal", Anders told him getting closer, wary of anyone that could be nearby. The elf got two steps back as Anders approached, watching him with the same disinterest that he had for his cut. The mage understood why a Templar under Cullen's orders would avoid him reluctantly but a Tranquil had no logical reason to, so it was odd that the one that had to stay close was the one that tried to get as far as he could.

"No need", said Salome in a murmur evading him. "One of the healers shall take care of it if needed".

Anders felt highly insulted. Even if it was just the littlest of cuts, he was a healer at his core and no one could take that from him. He insisted with a low but firm voice, "Let me see".

With a languid movement, Salome extended his arm to Anders, who took the hand between his and removed the excess of blood with a swipe of a thumb to get a better look at the cut. His gesture left the top of his digits with a tingling sensation and revealed that Salome's finger was perfectly fine.

"It's gone", murmured Salome and Anders felt the wonder his comment lacked. "I would suggest you to go back to your assignment before you end drawing more attention to yourself. The lack of sleep is showing under your eyes and the Knight-Captain has noticed".

As much as he wanted sleep, his Warden stamina allowed him to go days without rest. That he could did not mean he should, because the last time he dared to do so he ended up looking worse than Kristoff's corpse. Refusing to look at his reflection the past days only left him unable to confirm or refute Salome's words.

"Also, your hands are hot", the elf added monotonously as he retired his hand and went back to his task, ending the conversation.

"… Thank you?", Anders trailed off, confused by what he just heard. Looking down at his palms, he noted they were slightly reddish in contrast to the cold purple tint they carried and warm. Of course Salome would have meant that literally. There were no further comments and both men continued as if nothing had happened, which left Anders to deal with his thoughts.

Had he healed the cut?

There had been no visible signs of magic flowing and healing something so small did require a little concentration, not a mere touch with a passing thought about something somewhat related.

A couple of hours passed in an almost complete silence and meal time was nearing when, while Anders was in the middle of his ponderings, someone gasped and dropped a pile of books they were carrying. Instinctively, Anders reached down to pick them up.

He looked up to see Bethany Hawke looking back at him.


	7. SIETE:ETEIS

**Mirror Maze**

…

 **SIETE : ETEIS**

…

 _He looked up to see Bethany Hawke looking back at him._

* * *

Before Anders could stand up, Bethany fell to her knees and cupped his head with trembling hands. Her face carried an expression of utter heartbreak and desperation, and if she cried Anders didn't know if he could keep his impassive façade.

In the all the years he had known her, Anders couldn't remember being this close to Bethany. Her eyes were the exact same color as her brother's but so much bigger, so much brighter and so, so much sadder. Shedding light whenever they looked, it was obvious why Varric called her Sunshine. Anders had missed her more that he thought he could.

Behind her, a couple of young mages watched the scene warily and urged Bethany to get up the floor. Both women, one elven, and seeming to have been accompanying Bethany grabbed her robes from the back and pulled with enough force to shake her, but she refused to move and let go of Anders' face.

"No", she whispered. "You're not Anders".

Gathering the strength to respond had been a monumental effort, and he almost gave up to cry in the safety of her arms, but he spoke. He spoke and it broke Bethany's heart even more.

"I am, Miss Hawke", Anders said with a calm he did not feel at all, her last name rolling from his tongue with the taste of poison, "it's good to see you safe and fine".

 _Miss Hawke_. Disgusting.

The words lowly spoken rang around them and made her lips tremble while Bethany struggled to find her voice. Her face showed all the emotions Anders felt burning inside his chest, which caused him to feel a painful pang of envy for her. And then regret, and then resignation.

"Fine? _Fine_?" Her fingers brushed the burnt sun on his forehead and pressed angrily. It _hurt_. "You call this fine?"

Bethany was increasing the volume of her voice with every word she spoke, her friends got down with her to grab her from the forearms and yank her up. The family strength must have passed down to her, because she kept in place and began to cry, running her fingers through Anders hair muttering to herself. Oh, if she could only hear how loud he was screaming inside, how much he wished to hold her hand and run to a place where she could be safe from the damned City of Chains.

He could.

He would.

"I am no longer a danger to the people and the Chantry has given my life the means to help their cause", he answered. Bile rose up his throat and he had to breathe long and deep to calm himself.

Bethany stuttered, coherent thoughts slipping away from her mind. She did her best to appear composed and, without taking those eyes from Anders, eyes he'd seen many times in her brother's face, bid them farewell. Her friends following quickly, in silence with worrying looks on their faces.

The library became a little bit darker with the woman's departure.

Salome ushered him to go back to work.

* * *

It wasn't until he was able to leave the library that Anders gave his words some consideration.

To think that the apostate Healer slash abomination slash member of the Mage Underground from Kirkwall would be _glad_ to support the Chantry… Madness. Salome had to hold his hair and keep him in place while he vomited into a bucket until there was nothing left to throw out. The Tranquil stayed in the room while waiting for Anders to either get better or die drowning in his bile, which he disposed by tossing it over the window and hoping it fell onto a Templar.

The Tranquil elf left as the Moon rose in the dark sky of the night. Anders, all alone, began to contemplate his chances.

He _had_ jumped out of many windows before. And there was one more passage Cullen did not know of. Tranquility, as much as he loathed it, would be the most useful alibi he would ever manage to have. But now that he thought of it, was getting out the answer? Unstable magic, if it could be still called that way, unstable emotions and, most importantly, Cullen looming over him most of the time.

A knocking sound brought Anders' attention to the door from his considerations. Before even muttering any kind of permission, the door opened and Bethany hastily came in. Her robes were pristine but her hair was slightly tousled, possibly from running though no steps had been heard.

Little and afraid, she stood there. So different from the lively woman he had seen, he had known, before when they were free, after a fashion.

"Good evening, Miss Hawke", Anders said. The sight of the man carrying the burning sun made her insides roil. The numb greeting went over her head as she got, once again, closer to stroke his face. The bed creaked when she climbed behind him and slipped her arms around his torso in an unexpectedly strong grip, resting her forehead between Anders' shoulder blades.

"You know", she began talking, "I once dreamed of my brother and you coming to rescue me. It's funny because I'd need something to be rescued from for that to happen". Anders could feel her tears dampening his robes and had to put his hands over his knees, clenching, to keep still. No one would ever be able to tell whose quivering shoulder shook them both. Bethany continued, "At first, teaching children was amazing, and still is. Learning, sharing, letting go of my magic. Being safe. Why would my father, and you, fight against this? A dream come true".

How much Anders wished that Salome had not taken the bucket away. _She doesn't know better_ , he told himself, _she doesn't_. At least she wasn't able to see the expression of sheer disgust that he tried to contain. The fakeness and hypocrisy that the Circle exuded with its delusions of safety, of rightfulness, of _justice_ , went beyond being mere offences to every living being.

The night was cold, Anders wasn't.

"But…", Bethany spoke, "Did you see my friends? Lauren is so great with elemental magic and there's no book Kim hasn't read from beginning to end. Both are admirable role models, admirable friends and admirable lovers, I'm so jealous of how they love each other but so happy I count with their friendship". She laughed, her grip around Anders lessened.

The crying had stopped and the silence that followed was suffocating.

"It's nice to hear how well you are doing", Anders commented, if only to hear his own voice.

"They both are pregnant too".

Anders had to bite his tongue, drawing blood. He swallowed, he swallowed and felt nails scratching, scraping, rubbing and raking down the cold stone walls hiding them and their pain from the world.

Somewhere in time, there was a boy inside a dark cell, alone and desperate, too weak and too hopeless to even die. The same boy that other times could be found helping in the nursery under an always vigilant stare, losing count of all the new lives that slipped from his fingers inside circling walls; all the lives taken from mothers that could have wanted them, that reviled them, that were too far gone from reality to care, to realize what was happening around them.

Somewhere in time, there was a boy drinking from a cup of blood and then giving his body away for a friend while a sword pierced his heart. The same boy that stabbed his unfeeling lover's back years later. All because of circling walls that would never fall no matter how much he scratched and raked in the dark, cold and lonely cell.

"Please, don't let any of this be true", she begged. To whom, no one could say for sure.

Bethany kept talking, saying how sorry she was, how scared, wondering why were things the way they were and why _oh why_ would dear old brother leave them he surely would come because he had to, _right?_ She stopped her mutterings as footsteps grew closer, louder, to the room.

The door opened to reveal an angry looking Knight Captain, the moonlight made him look older than Anders remembered him being. His sudden apparition made Bethany claw at Anders' robes in fear and she shuddered under Cullen's frantic gaze.

"Do you know", began Cullen as he closed the door behind his back, almost screaming at Bethany, "What could happen to us if anyone found you here? If anyone found him?"

"The same thing that's going to happen to all of us here sooner or later, so what does it matter to you?", asked Bethany, shielding herself behind Anders, who looked unblinkingly at his newest guest. Cullen averted his eyes, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and settled for eyeing the moon when the guilt Ander's eyes caused him became heavier that his armor.

"It matters because I'm the one trying to protect you, Bethany!", Cullen replied, gesturing so wildly with his arms that he almost slapped Anders across his face, a little closer and maybe he could bite one of his fingers off.

"I don't want your protection!", she said, standing up with her back to the window and maintaining balance with a hand over Anders' shoulder. Her suddenly imposing figure casted shadows over both men, the family resemblance stronger than ever.

Cullen had the decency to hide his astonishment and maintain a calm impression, or maybe he was too shocked to say anything else in response to Bethany's words. Anders failed to care, there were better things to do and he didn't know how much longer he would be able to hide the truth from the duo shouting in front of him. As much as their loudness was better than silence, he needed them gone. Specifically, he needed Bethany gone from the city, and the Templars gone for _ever_ , but that would come later.

Hopefully.

While Cullen tried to reason with the youngest of the Hawke family, Anders' mind raced. Most of the plans he came up with involved contacting the Warden Commander, hoping he would treat his family better than Hawke no matter if he hadn't met any of them. But that would reveal that he wasn't dead, that he was a dirty liar and deserter, and his location. Even if he used one hundred names and one hundred contacts, Amell would just know.

The fear was easier to control with Justice's company. But he was gone and Anders was alone against the world.

"How could you let this happen?", Bethany asked Cullen gesturing to Anders. If only she knew that the Knight Captain made _this_ happen in the first place, and just for her and only her sake.

He realized then that he was just as angry, just as bitter, just as disposed and just as headstrong with or without a spirit. _Focus_ was what he lacked and what his friend had provided, besides also helping him retain his connection to the Fade, apparently.

Breathing in, breathing out.

"Miss Hawke", Anders interrupted, stopping the not so amiable discussion between his not so amiable guests and drawing their attention to him, "it's getting late, and it would be wise to head back to your rooms".

"Oh, Anders", she began, words failing her as Cullen grabbed her elbow carefully.

"Let's go, I'll take you back", the Templar mumbled looking at his feet as he led Bethany out of the room. Her hand fell from Anders' shoulder heavily and she let Cullen guide her outside.

Despite how big and pretty a cage could be, it would still be a cage. And Cullen couldn't keep Bethany safe and free trapped with the wolves in shining armor. Not when Circles were for the safety of the people outside them, the people without magic scared of the unknown. Scared of the gift of their Maker, if there could be one as cruel to let them lock His children away and throw the key in the hands of injustice.

"We'll see each other soon", Anders said loud enough to be heard while the door closed. When their footsteps, which he heard by pressing an ear against the wood, got considerable weaker and farther away, Anders walked out. All the torches in his way went out as he strolled by them, one by one.

Breathing in, breathing out.

Darkness overcame his surroundings, overwhelming his senses. He marched on into the void, for he did not need other light than the bright blue sun carved on his skin to show him the way. He wondered if Varric would mind late visits.

By his knee, the perfect imprint of a hand rested on his burnt robes.


	8. OCHO:OHCO

I guess I'm back

...

* * *

 **Mirror Maze**

 **...**

 **OCHO : OHCO**

 **...**

* * *

Anders was being followed.

He could feel it. Not see, not hear. _Feel_.

It didn't matter much; his presence would be revealed to whoever kept guard by the boats. If he played his cards right, as he usually didn't, he could use that for his advantage. Besides, mages weren't supposed to be roaming around at night, but he wasn't one. Maybe. Possibly.

Tranquil weren't allowed to either, but that wasn't the point. What exactly had he become would be a question for another moment. There were far more pressing matters to attend to in his current situation.

Making his way down all the tower stairs in complete silence, for once the darkness being surprisingly comforting, Anders breathed trying to get his heart to beat steady. What once kept him awake at night, fearing and suffering, was keeping him free. Kind of.

He was alive and kicking, that was for sure.

 _How_ was, like anything else regarding his predicament, a question for any other moment but that, one he would hopefully answer with company by his side and not while in the city, because if Templars couldn't get to him, Hawke could. His heart broke a little more when he remembered the man he thought he could love (and soared at the reality of feeling anything with a sun on his forehead), for there was no other explanation for his situation. The man had left his sister behind too, what hope could Anders have?

Nevertheless, he kept going. The patio empty and the skies dark, the starts shinning with modesty. Anders jumped from shadow to shadow, lessons from rogues he'd met along his many adventures repeating in his head. From Zevran's tricks to Isabela's rhymes plus his own experiences, Anders believed himself to be as adept at sneak as an apprentice. He could pick locks as fast of not even more so than Varric.

Poker was another thing altogether but someday, he swore, someday.

One way or another, he made his way to the docks. One guard stood between Anders and a lonely boat on the water, with his back to the wall and falling noticeably asleep. His snores could be heard meters away, and Anders noticed his breathing was hoarse, as if the man in the armor had smoke in his lungs. Without much thought, he got close.

 _Don't fail me now_ , he begged. His fingers were trembling and tingling, neither cold nor hot.

Sneaking one hand from the side, Anders placed his palm over the man's chest. Before the guard could react at all, he sent a pulse through their skin and to his heart. The man fell like a puppet without strings into Anders' arms. With care, he placed the still breathing body on the floor and searched for keys, a knife, anything useful.

He found a key ring and a short blade on the left hip of the uniform and a note on the right. He'd read it later or maybe he wouldn't at all but paper could come in handy. Then, he jumped onto the boat, as there was no time to marvel at his still present capabilities.

"A boat without oars doesn't seem like something that would take you anywhere".

Anders almost fell to the water from sheer surprise and spurn around without grace, heart frozen. The boat shook under his legs and the sound of ice breaking echoed in his ears. Salome was looking back at him, holding a couple of oars in his hands. The elf had, surprisingly, an expression on his face, as he was frowning notably.

The way Salome's eyes shone under the moonlight was eerie and it reminded Anders more of a tiger hunting prey than a cat. When the elf threw the oars to Anders, the latter was expecting an attack and, with a flourish of his hand, he stopped them. The oars levitated between the two men and Salome raised an eyebrow at the sight of them and the blue aura surrounding the wooden tools.

"Impressive", Salome commented, not impressed at all.

"What in Andraste's blessed name are you doing here?", Anders exclaimed, managing to scream in a murmur and holding position.

"Cleaning up your mess, as usual". Salome kneeled beside the body of the sleeping Templar and pulled it from the legs slowly, "if someone else finds this man here like this, an investigation is going to take place and someone is going to take the blame for you".

"He's just sleeping, Sal!"

"And Templars burn their armors in their sleep!", Salome screeched in anger before letting go of the body and covering his mouth with his hands. They both froze at his outburst, as the elf supposedly lacked any capacity for emotion, and the only movement Anders dared to make was lowering his sight until he caught a look at what Salome was referring to.

On the front of the Templar's armor was the perfect imprint of a scorched hand, as if it had been wielded upon it. The sleeping man's chest rose and lowered in his slumber, blissfully ignorant of the conversation had around him. How he managed to sleep through their ruckus was something Anders did not want to spend time guessing.

Anders extended his hands towards the floating oars, grabbing them and setting them on the wooden seats of the boat. Then, he extended them again, in Salome's direction. "Come with me, Sal, we can't stay here".

"Don't call me that".

"We don't have time for any of this!"

Salome stood up abruptly and regarded Anders with disdain, "No. We don't. Leave this place and leave me be. Since _you_ , whatever you are, got here I've started to _feel_ again, to remember what it is to be and regret every waking moment of my life".

"Please, Sal, I can help you".

"Can you bring my daughter back from the death?"

The air was cold both outside and inside Anders' lungs. His heart skipped a beat and he lowered his arms, knowing whatever battle he was fighting, a duel of stubbornness, he had just lost it. "I didn't know". He felt as if he had lost Karl once more, feeling his life vanishing between his arms. "I'm… so sorry, Sal. I didn't know".

"Because I didn't _want_ to tell you".

Fairness was a quality life itself lacked. In front of Anders, there was a man that had gone willingly into what he deemed the biggest punishment for living. And behind Anders, in his memories of a recent past, there was Karl and his blood running down his fingers and the knife he used to free him from his confinement.

"You shouldn't be able to… You're Tranquil".

"Neither should you, but here we are".

Anders considered his words while he sat down and accommodated the oars on his lap. The water surrounding the boat was frozen, but broke easily under the pressure of the wooden tools. He had no doubt he'd caused that. "Why are you helping me?"

"That's for the Maker and I to know. Leave, I'll will replace his armor and put him where no questions are asked".

"Doesn't seem like your first time doing this".

"It's not".

Anders started rowing, watching Salome drag the body into the shadows.

There were many questions he wanted to ask, but neither of them were in a state where they could neither be asked nor answered. He would come back, that was for sure, there were still so many things needed to be done and he simply couldn't bring himself to truly leave once and for all while Bethany, nor any other mage, suffered between those walls.

* * *

There was a man asking for Varric Tethras' presence.

Under normal circumstances, Fenris would have let the comment pass and kept going with his life, no matter how little happened in his day to day basis, but recent events left him at an almost permanent state of unease and caution. Something, anything, could happen anytime, and he refused to be caught off guard once again and letting one of his companions pay for his neglect.

He didn't blame himself for the mage's condition, but he also couldn't not blame himself for allowing someone's freedom being taken away. Anders's gesture had been a signal, but Fenris lacked the time and resources to look more into that, much less to allow himself to hope. It was anything but his place to do so, so he didn't.

As such, when he heard the rumor that an unknown man wat looking for Varric, he went in his stead. Surely the dwarf would take little time to appear after Fenris did, so he wasn't worried of fighting a group of enemies on his own. Not that he couldn't.

His investigation and interrogation skills, which could be described as threatening informants his way back to the mystery man, led him to the Rose, of all places.

" _Fasta vass_ ", he cursed entering through the doors. Jethann smiled at him from the back, as if he'd been expecting him.

"I was actually expecting our most esteemed messere Tethras", Jethann clarified when asked. "But you'll suffice for the moment while he comes".

"You think he'll come right into this trap".

"No, because it's not a trap. More of a…", Jethann, supporting his chin on his hand, seemed to think his words with care, "friend asking for help. Yes, that'll work for you too, I hope. Come, follow me".

Easier said than done. Men and women, workers and clients, alike regarded Fenris with lewd looks full of hunger when they weren't looking at him with fear. The many perfumes and commercial fragrances did a poor job covering the penetrating smells of sweat and sex that lingered in the establishment. To say he hated visiting the Rose would be an understatement and if he never had to set a foot in its floor, then Fenris could consider himself a pleased elf.

He followed Jethann to a barely concealed door behind some boxed and unused furniture. He saw Jethann knock on it thrice and then slowly opening it. A courtesan came out but Fenris immediately knew she wasn't the one he was supposed to find, as she turned back and said 'thank you' to whoever was still inside.

"He's a blessing, Jethann", she said with a smile on her pointy face, "it's so good to have him and his healing hands back. Look! No markings".

"That's great, Giselle", Jethann commented ushering her away with quick gestures of his hands, "now, now, go see your clients. And just because the scars are gone it doesn't mean you have to let anyone give you more".

Fenris grunted and ignored them, walking into the room as an exasperated Jethann closed the door behind him. When he saw the man, sitting in front of a fireplace and surrounded by poultices and empty plates, Fenris could safely say that he wasn't surprised at all. The way Anders looked back at him proved he couldn't say the same.

His throat was dry, and he fought to find a name to call him. But he just had to give it one more try.

"Mage?" Fenris asked, feigning nonchalance.

Anders' shrugged, "I guess? What are _you_ doing here?"

"You tell me".

"Have you told… anyone?"

"You can say Hawke's name; it's not cursed".

"One would think it is, by the way they treat it around many parts of the city".

And the mage, the mage, would be right. Garret Hawke proved to be someone to be admired out of the fear he caused. He was a rather good man to those that supported him and that were deemed worthy of his support. "No, I have not spoken a word of you to anyone. But I will unless you start explaining what is going on with you".

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"Why should I keep your secret?"

Anders was cornered, "I guess because we're… friends?"

Fenris scoffed, actually relieved from the mage's sad attempts at humor, "then, _friend_ , start talking".

Anders groaned and gestured to one of the stools in the room. "Take a seat, at least let's wait for Varric so I don't have to say any of this twice… Varric's going to come, right?"

" _I guess_ ", Fenris said, echoing Anders' words.

"Looks like neither of us lost our sense of humor".

And Fenris was awfully glad for that. Not that he'd let it show, "that would imply you had one to begin with". Anders puffed, indignant, and when Fenris went to sit at the nearest stool, it moved away from him, almost making him fall to the floor.

Anders smiled, raising his hands with his palms towards Fenris. "I didn't do it", he lied. The stool shone in a delicate blue light and Fenris only moved it again and sat when the light faded from both the stool and Ander's burnt sun on his forehead. It creeped him slightly and he thought for a second that Justice had taken over the man. His voice, shakier than usual, betrayed that theory. "So, Fenris. Why didn't you tell Hawke?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Maker, no! It's just… I'm am- was, kind of still am a mage and you hate me?"

"You can use magic; you _are_ a mage".

Anders seemed to relax at his words, "yes… I am". His smile turned soft and Fenris allowed his guarded posture to ease. "I'll tell you everything I know when Varric comes but I'll tell you something in advance: how _this_ " he gestured all over himself and then did a flourish with his fingers that caused sparks to appear between them, "happened, I have no idea".

"That is a good explanation as any that I could expect from you", Fenris said pleased to see Anders scoff at his words, "but you're wrong. I do not hate you, not as much as you believe me to do, at least".

"That is a good compliment as any that I could expect from _you_ ", Anders parroted at him, arms crossed and frowning, obviously not mad at all and fighting hard to appear as if he was. To barter again with the mage was to finally let go of a heavy weight upon Fenris' shoulders. He decided to wait until Anders gave them his explanation before opting for a course of action that would suit him, he could at least give him that chance.


End file.
